Are You Alone on Purpose? (15 page)

But this was before Alison's father had taken a turn with the invitation list. He had added nearly a hundred names. His entire department at Harvard. Relatives Alison barely knew existed, like Great-Aunt Muriel and several cousins called Eckenwiler. Their autism family support group, and the neighbors from whom the Shandlings occasionally borrowed folding chairs. The principal and vice principal of Adam's school.

“Wow,” Alison had said, reading the new list over her mother's shoulder. Her mother had simply shaken her head as her husband began talking about caterers and a sit-down lunch at the synagogue.

“Caterers cost forty or fifty dollars a plate, Jake,” her mother had said.

“So what?” Alison's father had replied. “We're rich.”

Alison had been a little shocked. It was true, she supposed, but it wasn't something her parents usually mentioned. And, except for buying their house and talking more about mutual funds and stuff, her parents didn't act any differently now than before the Sphere. Her mother still shopped the sales.

She'd watched her mother stare at her father, and then smile. “Okay, honey,” Mrs. Shandling had said. “Go ahead. Invite the president. The Kennedys. Call the
Boston Globe
.”

“I just might,” Professor Shandling had said seriously. “I never dreamed Adam would have a bar mitzvah.”

Watching her father's face, for a tiny moment Alison had felt like crying.

Just the other night at dinner, Alison had noticed that Adam's wrists were sticking too far out of his long-sleeved rugby shirt. Suddenly he had started growing, and you could already see that he was going to be lanky like their father. It was difficult to think about Adam growing up. That was what a bar mitzvah was about, really. And if it was a scary thought for Alison, it must be even scarier for her parents. Because Adam was never going to be normal, no matter how many bar mitzvahs he had. Alison was in charge of doing all the normal things for both of them.

In a few years, Adam was going to be an autistic man, not an autistic child. Alison wondered what that would mean. Would he be interested in girls? One day, would he be able to get some kind of job, have an apartment, the way her parents hoped?

It was no wonder that her father wanted the bar mitzvah to be such a big deal. You had to celebrate what you could.

Even Harry had been invited. “We have to,” Mrs. Shandling had said apologetically to Alison. “Because of his father. Honey, I'm sorry. But he's not bothering you these days, is he?”

“No,” Alison had said, feeling guilty.

“Good.” Mrs. Shandling had grimaced and turned away. “Nasty young man. Anyway, Paulina will be there for you.”

Remembering, Alison felt another twinge of guilt. It wasn't only about Harry. She and Paulina now hadn't spoken in nearly three weeks. She checked the last name off on the invitation list. She glanced at her mother, still deeply immersed in her work. Down the hall, Adam was winding down, moving from the Haftorah section to the blessings that followed.

What was she supposed to say to her mother, anyway?
Paulina's got a new best friend, Mom. She likes Felicia better than me because Felicia's popular. But I've been hanging out with Harry, and he's not so bad. I think I'm starting to understand why he acts the way he does. He's sort of like me. He keeps a lot of stuff to himself
. . . .

No. She wouldn't say anything. They were occupied with Adam, anyway. They wouldn't notice Alison.

That had always been how it was, and it was best.

Wasn't it?

 

After school on the day before Adam's bar mitzvah, Alison rode home with Harry in the van. Adam was due at the Roths' for one last rehearsal with the rabbi. “I'll just meet Adam there after school,” Alison had told her mother. “You can pick us both up there after Adam's lesson.” Her mother had agreed. It didn't seem to have occurred to her that Adam now knew Rabbi Roth well; he no longer needed Alison there too.

“Hello,” Rabbi Roth called, as they came in the door. Harry didn't reply. He gestured Alison toward the kitchen. Alison hesitated, calling out “Hello, Rabbi Roth” before following Harry.

“Chocolate pudding?” asked Harry, investigating the contents of the refrigerator. “There are a couple left.”

“Sure,” said Alison. She took two spoons out of the dish drainer and handed one to Harry before sitting down. The pudding was instant, and it hadn't been mixed too well; there was still powder around the edges. But it was edible.

She felt a little awkward here at the house with Harry. Coming home with him felt different from the times when she'd come over with Adam. Different, too, from seeing Harry at school, even though they'd been spending a lot of time together there. She looked at Harry. He had already finished his pudding and had pushed the empty dish away. He was drumming his fingers on the table, not looking at Alison. She wondered if he felt strange too, with her there.

Rabbi Roth came into the kitchen just as Alison was swallowing the last of her pudding. “Nice to see you, Alison,” he said to her. “I guess your brother is due here in a few minutes.” Alison nodded. She noticed Rabbi Roth was frowning at the two empty dishes on the table.

“Is there any pudding left?” he asked Harry.

“Nope,” said Harry.

Rabbi Roth went and looked in the refrigerator himself, as if he didn't believe Harry. “Adam likes chocolate pudding,” he said. He lifted out the milk carton and shook it accusingly. “There isn't enough milk to make more.”

“Well,” Harry said, “that's too bad. Will he starve, do you think?” He and his father glared at each other.

Alison squirmed.

There was a short silence. Then Rabbi Roth closed the refrigerator door and took a deep breath. After a moment, he moved his lips in the facsimile of a smile. “Well,” he said. “How was school today, Harry? Alison? You helping him catch up?”

Alison looked at Harry. He looked back at her, his face expressionless. It was true that she was helping Harry a little. But she knew better than to say anything. She shrugged. “School's fine,” she said. “You know.”

“No,” said Rabbi Roth pleasantly. He leaned forward and spoke directly to Alison, ignoring Harry. “I really don't. My son doesn't talk to me about school. He doesn't like it. He doesn't make A's like you.”

Alison wanted to die.

The doorbell rang. “That must be my brother,” said Alison.

“Excuse me,” said Rabbi Roth.

Alison listened as Rabbi Roth opened the front door and welcomed Adam. She didn't look at Harry. “Hi, Adam,” she called instead, after a moment.

Adam appeared in the kitchen doorway with Rabbi Roth. “Hello, Alison Shandling,” said Adam. “Hello, Harold Roth. Hello, hello, hello. I want orange juice. One half.”

Alison felt like laughing. Thank God, she thought, he doesn't want pudding. She sneaked a glance at Harry.

“Hello, Adam Shandling,” Harry was saying. “There's orange juice. One half.”

“I'll pour,” said Rabbi Roth, beginning to bustle around the kitchen. Finally he and Adam took the orange juice and headed down the hall to the den. A minute later Alison heard the beginning strains of Adam's bar mitzvah portion.

“Let's go to my room,” said Harry.

From behind the closed door of Harry's bedroom, the sounds of Adam's and Rabbi Roth's voices were still audible, but easy to ignore. Alison felt a renewed surge of awkwardness. That scene with Harry's father. Should she say something?

Harry had rolled his chair over near his bed and was pulling books out of his backpack, throwing them onto the bed. “Let's look at the math,” he said. He swiveled a little and glanced at Alison, standing near the door. “Okay with you?”

He didn't want to talk about it. Alison went and sat on the bed, opening the math book at an angle in front of her so that both she and Harry could see it. “Okay,” she said. “The simultaneous equations?”

“Yeah.”

“They're a rote thing,” said Alison. “You do the same things in the same order, and they come out every time. Watch.” She did the first homework problem. “See? Try the next one. All you have to do is follow the rules.” In the background, she heard Rabbi Roth say something. Then Adam started reciting in Hebrew.

“I hate rules,” said Harry. He made no move to take the pencil Alison was holding out to him. After a minute, she put it down.

“Sports have rules,” she said reasonably.

Harry gave her a look. He reached out with one hand and slammed the math book shut.

Adam began singing his Haftorah portion again.

“I can't stand it,” said Harry abruptly. “No offense, Shandling, but I've heard that goddamned Haftorah so many times in the last three weeks, I've got it memorized. I'm starting to dream it.”

“Me too,” said Alison.

Suddenly Harry looked directly at her. “My father is fixated on your brother.”

Alison shrugged helplessly. “Yeah,” she said. “Pretty strange, huh?” She watched Harry carefully.

“Do you think so?” Harry said. He moved his chair a little closer to the bed. Closer to Alison.

Alison didn't back off. She wondered again if he knew his father thought God had caused Harry's accident because of Adam. “Yes,” she said honestly. “I do think it's a little strange.”

“I do too,” said Harry. “But I don't understand why
you
think it's strange.”

“Why not?” said Alison. Somehow, Harry seemed even closer now.

“Because you've been acting a lot like my father.” He paused. “Do you know what I mean?”

“No,” said Alison. It came out a squeak.

“He's fixated on your brother,” said Harry. “And you're fixated on me.” Alison couldn't move. She couldn't speak. She knew he was right.

“Isn't that true?” said Harry. His face was very close, very still.

Slowly, Alison shook her head. “It's not the same,” she whispered. “You don't understand.”

Harry's voice was as low as Alison's. But it held a mean edge. “Explain it to me. Use one-syllable words so you can be sure I get it.”

Alison opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

“Well?” he said. “Were you being nice to the cripple because you felt sorry for him? Or what?”

“Shut up,” hissed Alison. “I was starting to like you, but I—”

“Right,” interrupted Harry. He imitated her voice. “I started to like you.” He sneered. “Yeah, I believe that one.”

Alison caught her breath in anger. “You'd better believe it,” she spat back, “because it's true. You were so horrible, someone had to pay attention! And once I started paying attention . . .”

Harry froze. They stared at each other. And then, slowly, Harry asked: “Why? Tell me why you decided to pay attention?”

Alison swallowed. She turned her face away before she answered. “I think because—in a different way—for different reasons—no one in my family pays any attention to me either.”

There was silence. Tentatively, Alison turned back to face Harry, and met his eyes. And, equally slowly, he reached out and took her head in his hands. And then leaned forward and kissed her, gently, on the forehead.

And then on the mouth.

And then backed off.

Astonished, Alison put her hand to her lips. She stared at Harry.

And he blushed. Alison watched in disbelief as the blush spread upward on his neck and washed over his entire face. He bit his lip. He turned away. “I'm out of practice,” he muttered. She could barely hear him.

She said, just as quietly, “It might be easier if I helped.”

In the silence Alison could hear Rabbi Roth talking. Something about responsive readings.

“You interested?” said Harry. He had turned back toward her.

“Maybe.”

He waited, watching her. Alison realized she would have to make the next move. She wiped her palms surreptitiously on her jeans. Then she leaned over and kissed Harry, gently.

“You're not really in practice either, are you?” said Harry, after a minute.

“No.” Alison was feeling surprised. Harry's lips were very soft. Sweet.

“It might be even easier,” Harry said, “if you would sit on my lap.” His voice went defensive. “It's a little hard for me to lean over.”

“Oh,” said Alison. “Okay.” She moved. His arms came around her. They felt good. They kissed again. Practice, Alison thought, was a good idea. She heard a short rapping noise but paid no attention.

“Alison? I wonder if you could . . .” It was Rabbi Roth's voice. Startled, both Alison and Harry looked up, toward the door.

It was Rabbi Roth himself.

In the doorway, holding the doorknob. Staring at them.

A
dam was doing considerably better than Harry himself had done, two years before, Harry thought, watching his father watch Adam, at the podium, as he finished his nearly perfect Haftorah portion before a congregation of hundreds of Shandling relatives, friends, and acquaintances.

He hoped that made his father, revolving on his own little planet, happy. Meanwhile, Harry himself was going to pay some attention to the planet sitting in front of him in the first row, next to her parents. Alison.

His father hadn't said anything about walking in on them yesterday. Harry had waited all day and evening and into today, right up until it was time to go to Adam's bar mitzvah, and his father hadn't said a word.